


The Sorrow Princess

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Homeless!Peeta, Outtakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: The one and only BellaGracie has honored me with the trust to write a few Outtakes of her amazing story "Are Those For Me?" Involving a homeless Peeta Mellark and a very stubborn Katniss trying to get Peeta out of the streets. Here is the first of a batch of short Outtakes, from this fascinating universe. Hope you like them!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BellaGracie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaGracie/gifts).



> I do not own the Hunger Games.
> 
> This work is unbetaed, any mistakes are my own.

There she is again, Katniss! The girl with the eyes like thunderstorms, lighting and mist.

One look of her dark braid and my heart races to frightening speeds.

I know she didn't notice me at first; why would she? I'm nothing but a bum in the streets, watching life happen to others, while I stay a measly spectator. But, _her_... I noticed her the moment she moved in!

She's not classically beautiful, although any man she walks by has to turn his head twice before they can continue on with their day, not that she'd be aware of this, she's quite oblivious of the effect she can have, but I guess that's part of her allure.

There's something captivating about her; maybe is her mysterious eyes, so sad, so determined, so full of storm and fire. Maybe is her long dark hair that even in its usual rope of a braid, shines in the sun, blinding you with its silky quality, the way it dances with her soft hips every time she takes a step. It might be the way she paralyzes you with her scowls, that don't take away her innate exotic beauty; the truth is, I'm not sure what it is about her, but the moment I saw her tripping into her building, arms loaded with the boxes of her belongings, I knew she was special.

Before her, I was quite the nomad. I never stayed in one street for longer than a week. I never stayed in one neighborhood for longer than a month. But after seeing her, I couldn't make myself leave, on the contrary, I quickly found the closest shelter, the closest library, and soup kitchen of the area. For an inexplicable reason, I felt the need to stick around, even if the pretty girl with the stormy eyes never looked my way.

I used to watch her come and go with the tide of working men and women. Her gaze always sad and downcast, her shoulders hunched over and defeated. She hadn't look quite so beat up the first time I spotted her, but now her melancholy made her the more intriguing.

I used to sit by the curb, memorizing her schedule, hoping to get a glance at her pretty face. I spent hours wondering why she'd looked so down and lonely.

Watching her was bittersweet. I know of loneliness and hardship. Mine is a straight forward story: army veteran, returning home from the big sand box, with persistent case of PTSD and survivor's guilt, that left me insomniac, distraught and downright unlovable, or so does what remains from my family says.

But my princess of sorrow, the one that once look so bright eyed, excited and determined, now dragged her feet to and fro, with the weight of her troubles.

I don't consider myself a brave man; more than once I chickened out in my attempt at saying hello to her, maybe it was because I had observed the way she always have big berths around some of my fellow street residents, maybe it was because the weariness of her eyes when one of them rudely told her she was stepping to close to their dog's bed.

She's not the type of girl that needs rescuing, that much has always been clear. She's not the type of girl that needs a male companion to fight her battles and defend her, quite the opposite, she always seemed capable of watching out for herself. But I could sense her distrust for us homeless folk.

That didn't stop me from wanting to do something courageous for her, but I managed to muster enough bravery to approach her. Not until the day the most wonderful thing happened!

It was a particularly sunny day, not one cloud above our heads, not a shadow of fog to clog our visibility, and then, if I've ever witnessed a miracle, this was the biggest of them all: my sorrow princess was humming!

A bundle of flowers clutched in her arms, live and vibrant. The colors of the blooms reflecting on her smooth olive skin, making her cheeks glow prettily. I'm not certain what song was she humming, but there was no doubt, my sad goddess was in the most chipper mood I've ever seen her.

She walked so close to me, it seemed as if she was heading straight for me; my mouth opened of its own accord and before I could reigned my words in, they spilled from my lips:

"Are those for me?"

' _Of course they aren't for you, idiot!'_ My own conscious screamed. I could have kicked myself for that one.

I tried to cover up the awkwardness by turning it into a joke, but my princess surprised me by handing me a blue blossom. She claimed it matched my eyes, and that was just the beginning of this wonderful fairy tale.

"Hi, Peeta!" She greets me with a wide smile on her lips. "I was hoping you'd be here already. I was going to rent a red box at the Walgreen's down the street, and I was wondering if you'd like to come watch the movie with me. I ordered pizza and root beer," she says shyly. "I'm starving!" She adds and offers her open hand, for me to grasp.

I take it, smiling back at her, "Will you let me pay for the pizza this time?" I ask her arching my eyebrows.

She shrugs, "I guess if you want to pay this time. But next movie night, it will be my treat!" She says haughtily, linking her arm with mine.

We make it down the road that way, and she tells me all about her day at work, and how much she was looking forward to come home, because apparently, Thursdays are to become our routinely movie and pizza night, and to be honest, I don't have the heart to tell her I'm not worth her time, not when she finally looks happy and whole. Not when my princess has exchanged her sorrow for joy.

I'll stay around, until she realizes I don't belong with people. I'm unlovable, but she's the one grace, that saves my days.


End file.
